Adeline Tsopgni, student leader and committed citizen, speaks out to denounce the exorbitant price of the fabric for the celebration of International Women’s Rights Day in Cameroon. Here is the full text of her column.
“I refuse to remain silent about the exorbitant price of the March 8 fabric.
Origins of March 8
I refuse to remain silent because March 8 is not just a date in the Republic’s festive calendar. It is not an annual fair, nor an opportunity to display flamboyant fabrics under the sun of the Boulevard. March 8 was born from a cry. A cry let out by invisible, exploited women, deprived of rights, locked in a system that decided for them, without them.
At the beginning of the 20th century, in a world dominated by exclusively male political and economic structures, women had neither the right to vote, nor equitable access to education, nor social protection worthy of the name. They worked in factories for derisory wages, without security, without recognition. In 1910, in Copenhagen, German activist Clara Zetkin proposed the creation of an international day dedicated to women’s rights. The idea was not to celebrate an identity, but to demand justice. In 1977, the United Nations officialized the date of March 8, thus consecrating a struggle that had spanned decades.
This day symbolized a break: that of a world where women were excluded from the ballot box, deprived of property rights, confined to the domestic space, under the legal guardianship of their husbands or fathers. March 8 represented the affirmation of a full and complete humanity. It was a space for protest, a time for assessment, a time for political pressure.
Beginning of celebrations in Cameroon
In Cameroon, the official celebration began in 1986 under the aegis of the Ministry for the Promotion of Women and the Family. The stated ambition was clear: to institutionalize a moment of reflection and action regarding the condition of women. It was about valuing rural women, urban women, market traders, students, civil servants, craftswomen, and stay-at-home mothers. It was about showing that female diversity was a national wealth.
Contemporary celebrations
Over the years, the parade organized on the Boulevard du 20 Mai has become the strong image of this celebration. Thousands of women, grouped into associations, administrations, and cooperatives, march under the gaze of the authorities. The official fabric, produced by the Cotonnière Industrielle du Cameroon (CICAM), has become the visual symbol of this national unity.
But at what point did we start confusing unity with uniformity? At what point did the symbol become a barrier?
The March 8 fabric has not always been an inaccessible product. In its early days, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, its price remained relatively modest, adapted to average purchasing power. It cost a few thousand CFA francs and represented a reasonable effort for most salaried women or traders. The goal was for everyone to be able to obtain a copy to participate in the celebration.
Today, the reality is quite different. Last year, the fabric was selling for around 12 000 FCFA on the market. This year, it is around 15 000 FCFA to 17 000 FCFA, an increase of about 36 % in one year. In a context marked by the general rise in the prices of food, rent, school fees, and transport, this rapid progression raises questions. The high cost of cotton, rising production costs, and global inflation are cited. Certainly. But should the financial effort rest on the very people we claim to celebrate?
Who could give up days of meals to celebrate Women’s Rights Day?
In many households, 15 000 FCFA represents more than just a symbolic purchase. It is a significant part of the monthly budget. It is sometimes the equivalent of several days’ worth of food supplies. For a rural woman living on subsistence farming, for a street vendor, for a young student without a stable income, this amount can constitute an insurmountable obstacle.
The paradox is painful: the day supposed to celebrate inclusion risks accentuating exclusion.
In working-class neighborhoods, some women admit to giving up the parade for lack of means to buy the fabric and pay for the tailoring. Because to the price of the fabric are added the tailoring costs. In the end, fully participating in the parade can cost 20 000 FCFA or more. For many, it is a luxury.
In the past, it was not uncommon to see women parading in white tops, traditional outfits, or carefully preserved fabrics from previous years. The essential thing was presence, solidarity, and collective visibility. Gradually, implicit dress codes were established. The official fabric became almost mandatory. Associations demand uniformity. Some administrations refuse the participation of those who do not wear the fabric of the year.
Sometimes we arrive at the festival square and observe a disturbing scene: men proudly wearing the official fabric, while women, for lack of means, remain spectators. The celebration of women becomes a spectacle that some women can only attend from the sidelines.
This is not about attacking a company or denying economic realities. It is about asking a fundamental question: who actually benefits from this current organization? When the symbol becomes an expensive consumer product, do we not risk transforming a space for advocacy into a seasonal market?
Is it only the fabric that is the problem?
Beyond the fabric, the very structure of March 8 deserves questioning. Every year, starting in February, delegations from the Ministry for the Promotion of Women and the Family organize preparatory meetings. Programs take shape: sports walks, conference-debates, caravans, official parades. Activities are often similar from one year to the next.
Yet, during this time, tragedies are multiplying. Cases of femicide regularly shake public opinion. Women are killed by their partners. Others suffer repeated violence in general indifference. Some, cornered by social pressure, precariousness, or domestic violence, commit the irreparable. These tragedies occupy the media space for a few days, then disappear, relegated to the rank of minor news items.
March 8 should be the time when these files are not closed. It should be the time for strong national advocacy, for public questioning of judicial institutions, for a demand for concrete reforms. Why not organize sit-ins in front of Parliament? Why not dedicate an entire edition to the demand for more robust legislation against gender-based violence? Why not publish an annual public report evaluating the real progress made?
Instead, the repetition of formats sometimes gives the feeling of a mechanical celebration, disconnected from social emergencies.
March 8 cannot only be a day of dancing, gastronomy, and protocol photos. It must once again become a political space in the noble sense of the term: a place where the city listens to its women.
What is the way forward for the coming years?
There is still time to reorient the trajectory. Solutions exist. Cameroon has large companies, technical and financial partners, banks, insurance companies, and telecommunications companies capable of supporting mass production of subsidized fabrics. Why not set up a transparent sponsoring mechanism to drastically reduce the price of the fabric, or even distribute it for free to rural women and disadvantaged associations?
If we celebrate women, the symbol of this celebration should not be a privilege.
It is also urgent to rethink the content of the programs. Each edition should tackle a burning issue: domestic violence, access to credit for rural women, professional integration of young graduates, female mental health, protection of informal sector workers. Conferences must not be mere formalities, but spaces for the confrontation of ideas and the production of public recommendations.
The young woman must be at the center of this dynamic. Students, apprentices, young entrepreneurs, activists: they must participate in the design of activities, the definition of priorities, and the evaluation of public policies. The future of the female condition is being prepared today.
Reducing costs, relaxing dress requirements, opening spaces for real advocacy, establishing evaluation mechanisms: these are concrete paths.
March 8 is not a fabric. It is a heritage. A heritage born of struggles, sacrifices, and silent resistance. Transforming it into an elitist event would be a betrayal of its essence.”
